


benefits of getting stood up

by haleofStilesheart



Series: Valentine's Day Fic Giveaway (2017) [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Derek is a Softie, Getting Together, Kelpies, Kissing, M/M, Mild Gore, Original Male Characters (mentioned) - Freeform, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Peter is a Little Shit, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: Stiles is pissed. He's cold. He's wet. And to top it all off he got stood up that morning. Worst Valentine's Day ever.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frostniskare](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=frostniskare).



> For the Valentine's Day fic giveaway prompt: first time Stiles gets a date for Valentine, detailed plans and all, but that morning he's being stood up and shit goes down with a new baddy, so he's kind of freaking done, and he also gets hurt (but not too much) so Derek, feeling how much he's sad and angry, since Der called him there, decides to make up for it even with his awkward social skills and angry eyebrows. Cool date (and sex, if you're up to) ensues. HAPPY ENDING yeah c: Thanks c:

Stiles brought the bat down on the kelpie’s head again with a sickeningly wet thud. He raised it only to slam it back down on the creature’s pulverized cranium, bone cracking under the overzealous assault.

The rest of the pack looked on in a mix of horror and morbid fascination as Stiles continued to literally beat the dead supernatural horse. Black blood seeped out of the kelpie’s many various wounds, painting the rocky riverside with dark gore, the moss stained by the dark blood.

After a couple hikers had been reported missing in the preserve earlier that day, the pack had spent hours trying to figure out what had happened, attempting to decide whether or not there was a supernatural component or not. Their suspicions had intensified when the hiker’s dead bodies were found downstream, pre-mortem slashes and bruises covering them, fluid in their lungs indicating that they had drowned.

It was Stiles who had come to the conclusion that a kelpie was responsible for the deaths of the couple, pointing out the hoof shaped contusions on one of the men’s chests. Derek deeming it very plausible, the pack had taken to the preserve, searching the area in which the hikers had gone missing for any sign of the kelpie.

After over two hours of canvassing the area, searching for the creature, it had made its whereabouts known by bellowing out a deafening roar when Isaac got a little too close to the river where it was residing. In response, Isaac had thrown his head back and howled for reinforcements while trying to fight off the crazed kelpie.

The rest of the pack had arrived in time to save Isaac from getting his skull crushed by one of the kelpie’s hooves, Derek tugging him out of harm’s way with a ferocious roar of his own. The alpha had received a lash to his face from the kelpie’s whip-like tail of seaweed for his troubles, a line of blood smattered across his face as he flashed his bright red eyes at the kelpie.

With the pack surrounding it, the kelpie had become even more aggressive, lashing out at them whenever one of them so much as breathed, leaving almost all of them wounded, dragging a few of them into the river with it as it attempted to escape. Crawling out of the frigid water, Stiles had ended things with one fell swing of his bat, the kelpie collapsing on the riverbank with a loud thump, but once Stiles started, he couldn’t stop.

He was pissed. It was Valentine’s Day and there he was in the middle of the preserve, soaking wet with his side throbbing from where the kelpie had scratched him with the sharp edge of one of its hooves.

He grunted as he continued his assault on the kelpie’s skull, the rest of the pack wincing each time he landed a blow on the kelpie’s head, eyes riveted to the gut-wrenching scene. Eventually, after several excruciating minutes of the violence, a hand shot out to grab the bat, sparing the kelpie corpse another hit and stopping Stiles in his tracks

“What?!” Stiles growled, snapping his head up to meet Peter’s eyes, baring his teeth in a human snarl, panting heavily as he tightened his grip on the bat. Peter just rolled his eyes at him with a snort.

“As much as I am a fan of unnecessary violence, this―” he waved his hand to indicate the kelpie’s dead body, black blood seeping out of its demolished skull “―is just plain excessive,” Peter drawled with a judgemental grimace. He dropped his right hand, wrinkling his nose at the sticky black blood covering his palm before wiping it off on the side of his designer jeans. Turning back to Stiles, he casually suggested, “Now, why don’t we just wash up and spend the rest of the evening having rough, wild sex, hmm?”

“In your dreams,” Stiles spat viciously, straightening up and squaring his shoulders, narrowing his eyes at the smirking werewolf. He was in no mood for Peter’s perverted little teasing.

“Well, yes. But that doesn’t quite answer my question,” Peter pointed out, raking his half-lidded eyes over Stiles’ body, not bothering to conceal his blatant interest. Stiles rolled his eyes, freezing stock still when Peter tacked on, “One would think that after getting stood up this morning you would be more than happy to jump into bed with someone as good-looking as myself.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles snarled, though he wasn’t at all surprised at Peter’s words, not surprised by the fact that the werewolf would so callously throw the little tidbit back in his face after Stiles confided in him. He shouldered passed him to crouch down by the river, dipping his hands into the algid water to wash the kelpie blood off his hands, feeling the eyes of the other pack members boring into him.

For the past two weeks, he had talked all of their ears off about the cute guy he had met at the local coffee shop, the one who had ordered the same exact latte as him, both ordering chocolate cherry muffins too. They had all been excited for him, except maybe Derek who had just nodded indifferently when Stiles had told him about meeting Eric.

After texting back and forth for a few days, they had agreed to go out for coffee together on Valentine’s Day, planning to meet at the same coffee shop where they had first bumped into each other. Stiles had been absolutely giddy in the days leading up to their date, unable to keep from breaking into a wide grin at the very thought of seeing Eric again.

That morning he had waited for over two hours for him to show up, going through several large cups of espresso and a few red velvet muffins before he just gave up, coming to terms with the fact that Eric had stood him up. He had run into Peter on his walk home, leaving his Jeep at home due to the unseasonably warm weather that day, on pure impulse admitting that he had been stood up. Peter had actually been rather sympathetic, offering a gentle pat on the back and a few choice words about Eric being an asshole.

And now the rest of the pack knew, probably looking at him with pity in their eyes and trite words on the tips of their tongues. If he hadn’t been pissed before, he certainly was now, bracing himself for one of them to say something about his failed date.

But what he heard instead was the telltale jingle of keys and Derek’s voice firmly instructing the betas, “Go home and get some rest. I’ll take care of the body.”

Stiles heard the crunch of the underbrush as the betas headed back to the Camaro, their footsteps fading away as he focused on cleaning the blood off his bat. He waited patiently for Derek to say something, chewing his lip and ducking his head, feeling like an idiot.

He had let his emotions get the better of him, his frustrations taking over the much more reasonable part of him. Derek was sure to chew him out for it.

“Do you still have a can of gas in your Jeep?” Derek asked instead, much to Stiles’ surprise, the sound of his voice making Stiles jolt and nearly tumble back into the river again, steadying himself with a hand braced on a large mossy rock. Stiles whipped his head around to gawk at Derek, raising a curious brow at the werewolf who just gestured to the dead kelpie, placidly explaining, “We need to burn it.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” Stiles mumbled, digging around in the pocket of his hoodie for his car keys, finally finding them and yanking them out of his pocket with a triumphant half smile. He tossed them over to Derek who caught them without batting an eye, turning on his heel to jog through the woods back to where Stiles had parked the Jeep earlier, leaving him to finish cleaning up.

Derek returned a few minutes later with the bright orange gas can just as Stiles rose to his feet, drying his hands on his jeans. Derek motioned Stiles over with a jerk of his head, encouraging him to move further away from the kelpie’s body as he began dousing the corpse with a generous amount of gasoline.

Stiles moved away from the river, resting his bat on his shoulder as he scurried over to stand behind Derek, watching as the alpha emptied the can over the kelpie corpse, coating its leathery hide. Pulling a silver Zippo lighter out of his pocket, Derek took a few steps back, dragging Stiles along with him, and grabbed a dry, brittle stick from off the ground. He lit the end of the twig with the Zippo and tossed it onto the kelpie.

They watched as the creature was engulfed in a bloom of flames, dark flesh burning away to ash in mere minutes, bones crumbling into dust. A cloud of sickly green smoke rose from the kelpie’s disintegrating body, rising up into the night air where it was whipped away by the wind.

They waited until the fire died down to cinders, Derek kicking some dirt onto the remaining ashes, before turning to leave, Stiles still waiting for Derek to reprimand him for his downright cruel behavior earlier. But it never came. Not when they walked back to the Jeep, not when they climbed into, Stiles not saying a single word about Derek driving, not when they drove out of the preserve and back into town.

“Umm… My house is that way,” Stiles piped up, hooking a thumb over his shoulder, when Derek missed the turn that Stiles usually took to get back home after a night of monster hunting in the preserve. He couldn’t think of any reason why Derek would be driving him anywhere else. It didn’t make much sense at all.

“I need to check your side,” Derek announced in response, not taking his eyes off the road for a second, driving in the opposite direction of Stiles’ house. Flicking his eyes over to Stiles, fixating on the shredded fabric of his t-shirt, his skin covered in blood from both himself and the kelpie, Derek elaborated, “It’ll be easier to do it at the loft. And I don’t think your dad would appreciate it if we woke him up in the middle of the night.”

“Afraid he’s gonna shoot you?” Stiles managed to joke, relaxing back into the plush cushion of the passenger seat, resting his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He sighed contentedly when Derek turned up the heat, welcome warmth seeping into his chilled skin.

“Yeah,” Derek unabashedly admitted, making another turn in the direction of the loft, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. With another glance over at Stiles, he added, “I have a feeling he might if I wake him up after working a two day straight shift.”

“You’re not wrong,” Stiles conceded with a crooked grin of his own, well aware of how cranky his dad could get when woken up early. He had made that mistake more times than he liked to think about.

They didn’t talk much for the remainder of the drive back to the loft, Stiles coming close to nodding off as he hummed along to the radio under his breath, cold and tired. Derek startled him out of a light doze with a hand on his shoulder when they arrived at the loft, Stiles nearly smacking Derek in the face when he flailed in surprise.

Still in a bit of a daze, he fumbled his way out of the Jeep and followed Derek into the building, groaning aloud at the arduous sight of all the stairs that they would have to scale just to get to the loft. He already felt like he was about to keel over from exhaustion and he and stairs had never gotten along too well anyhow. He turned to Derek with an exaggerated pout, inquiring, “Would it be weird if I asked you to carry me?”

Derek cocked a brow at him, resting a hand on Stiles’ lower back to lead him towards the elevator, stepping inside and waiting for Stiles to join him. But Stiles just gawked at him incredulously, face blanching as he scanned his eyes over the rickety old box of death.

“What?” Derek prompted, folding his arms over his chest as he looked at Stiles like  _ he _ was the crazy one for not wanting to climb into the elevator. “You said you didn’t want to take the stairs.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles conceded, scratching the back of his head as he looked back at the flights of stairs which suddenly looked very appealing in comparison. Turning back to Derek, he waved his hand around wildly, announcing, “But I’d rather take the stairs than  _ that thing _ !”

“You’ll be fine,” Derek insisted, rolling his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at Stiles’ insufferability. Dropping his hand, he met Stiles’ eyes, swearing, “I promise, you’ll be fine, Stiles. If anything happens, I’ll be right here. Now, will you please just get in the elevator?”

“Fine,” he reluctantly capitulated, taking a cautious step into the elevator, jumping with a high-pitched yelp when Derek yanked the grate closed behind him, rolling his eyes again. He practically clung to Derek’s arm as the elevator climbed to Derek’s floor, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he mumbled under his breath, “I swear to god, if I die in here I will haunt you for the rest of your life!”

Stiles couldn’t be sure, not seeing it for himself, but he was pretty sure that Derek rolled his eyes again, breathing out a deep sigh at Stiles’ panicked little half-hearted threat.

Once they made it to Derek’s floor, the elevator jolting to a jerky stop, Stiles hopped out of the elevator and rushed over to the heavy steel door of the loft, feeling a bit nauseous. He tugged the door open, letting himself in, not bothering to wait for Derek, making himself right at home by plopping down on the couch.

“Get up,” Derek ordered, following him into the loft, slipping out of his leather jacket which he draped over the back of his favorite recliner after closing the steel door. Stiles looked up at him, offended, crossing his arms over his chest as he frowned. But Derek just strode over and shoved his feet off the couch and snapped, “Go take a shower before you get blood all over the couch. It’s new.”

Stiles pushed himself to his feet with a fair amount of grumbling, kicking off his soaking wet Converse that had been squeaking incessantly since the kelpie had knocked him into the river. Still muttering to himself under his breath, Stiles padded down the hallway to the bathroom, closing the door himself as he quickly and efficiently stripped out of his sopping wet clothes.

He could hear Derek moving around in the main living room while he turned on the hot water, probably gathering things he would need to patch up the bloody scratches on Stiles’ side. Testing the temperature of the spray with his hand before stepping into the stall, sighing at the hot water that sluiced over his cold skin, Stiles silently thanked whatever gods were responsible for perfect water pressure.

He used an obscene amount of Derek’s expensive body wash that smelled like a refreshing blend of cedarwood and jasmine, sure he probably smelt like a rancid swamp, using an ample amount to wash his hair with. Very carefully, he used some unscented soap to scrub away most of the blood on his side, wincing at the gnarly sight of the ragged scratches, the cuts throbbing a bit under his ministrations.

After lingering in the shower for a few extra minutes, soaking up as much warmth as he possibly could, Stiles begrudgingly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself. He nearly jumped out of his own skin when he heard a knock at the bathroom door, clutching the towel to his chest in a half-assed attempt to cover himself.

“Um, yeah?” Stiles called, trying to calm his pounding heartbeat, pressing a hand to his chest over the fabric of the towel. He let out a deep sigh, hoping Derek hadn’t noticed just how frightened he had gotten. 

“It’s just me,” Derek responded, his tone even and placating so as not to startle Stiles any more than he already had. After a few brief moments of silence, he murmured, “I brought you some clothes.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles answered, fumbling to wrap the towel around his waist as he crossed the room to the door, opening it just enough to peer out at Derek. He was holding a stack of neatly folded clothes in his arms, a soft looking maroon Henley and a pair of baggy black sweatpants, hands outstretched in offering. Stiles accepted them gratefully, murmuring, “Uh, thanks, dude.”

Derek offered a tight smile, a flash of red high on his cheeks, and pulled the door closed him, leaving Stiles to finish drying off and getting redressed. He was quick to dry himself off, scrubbing the towel over his wet skin until he was dry enough to not track water through the loft, shaking his head to help dry his thick hair.

Feeling a bit of a chill again, he quickly tugged on the warm Henley and sweatpants, glad to see that Derek had enclosed a pair of boxer briefs with the pants. He didn’t bother lingering in the bathroom much longer, draping the damp towel and his wet clothes over the shower rod to dry before leaving the room and heading back out to the living room where Derek was sitting on the couch.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted, absent-mindedly fidgeting with the hem of his borrowed Henley, nodding his chin at Derek as he took a seat beside him on the couch. He glanced at the coffee table where there was both a first aid kit and a box of pizza from his favorite takeout place, the mere sight of the box enough to make his mouth water, his stomach rumbling loudly.

“Hey,” Derek returned. Indicating the pizza box, he said, “I thought you might be hungry so I ordered your favorite.”

“Ooh, meat lover’s with curly fries?” Stiles asked, impatiently lifting the lid of the pizza box, licking his lips at the glorious sight of five different types of meats and four different kinds of cheeses, curly fries liberally sprinkled over top just the way he liked. Grabbing a big heaping slice, greases dripping down his fingers to the inside of his wrist, he enthusiastically announced, “Dude, you’re the best!”

“How’s your side?” Derek questioned, leaning forward to grab himself a slice as Stiles took a few large greedy bites of his own, looking a bit like a chipmunk with his round cheeks as he chewed.

Swallowing heavily, Stiles nodded, voice a little muffled as he reported, “It’s okay. Still hurts a little but it stopped bleeding.”

Derek nodded and took a bite of his own slice, folding his piece of pizza in half so as not to lose any toppings, grabbing a napkin to mop at the corners of his mouth. Pausing for a moment, he gestured towards the first aid kit on the coffee table, claiming, “You should put some antiseptic on it. And a bandage.”

Stiles just nodded and gave a little salute, too preoccupied with stuffing his face to provide a more formal response, a little disappointed that Derek wouldn’t be treating his wounds himself. He was only drawn out of his pizza-fixated haze when Derek clicked on the TV, a Batman movie already queued up on Netflix. 

Choking down another mouthful of pizza, Stiles turned to Derek, raising an accusatory brow as he declared, “Y’know, this feels suspiciously like a date.”

“I…” Derek trailed off awkwardly, licking his lips and setting his slice of pizza back down in the box, eyes on his shoes. Scratching his cheek, he reluctantly admitted, “Uh, yeah. That’s kind of what I was going for.”

Stiles stared at him, aghast. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“I’m sorry, it was stupid,” Derek muttered, squeezing his eyes shut while he shook his head, shoulders slumping as he curled in on himself a bit. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize again, but Stiles wasn’t having any of it. He cut off whatever Derek was going to say by pressing their lips together, abandoning his pizza to clumsily scramble into Derek’s lap.

Stiles crashed their lips together without any real finesse, looping his arms around Derek’s neck as he swiped his tongue over Derek’s bottom lip, nipping it a bit. It took a moment for Derek to respond, the hesitation terrifying Stiles until the alpha wound his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled him in closer.

Reluctantly pulling back from the kiss that he had returned with equal fervor, Derek laid a few kisses to Stiles’ cheek, the curve of his cheek, his cheek. Voice husky and rough as Stiles kissed his stubble-studded throat, he confessed, “So glad Eric stood you up.”

Had it not been for the fact that because Eric had stood him up he was now making out with Derek, Stiles probably would have been offended, but considering the fortuitous turn of events, he couldn’t help but agree. Guiding Derek’s lips back to his own with a firm hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, he concurred, “Me too.”

After a few more heated kisses, Stiles spreading his legs to straddle Derek’s lap more comfortably and Derek’s hands having somehow migrated to under the hem of Stiles’ borrowed shirt, a thought occurred to Stiles. This time, Stiles broke the kiss, preening at the needy whine Derek let out when he did, and joked, “Guess we should send Peter a fruit basket, huh?”

“Please don’t talk about my uncle when we’re making out,” Derek requested, panting a bit against Stiles’ wet lips, a small smirk curling both of their mouths. He swooped back in to scatter a small series of quick kisses to Stiles’ lips, smiling into each and every one.

“So, I guess that’s a no to a threesome, then?” Stiles wondered, pouting in faux disappointment as he rubbed his hand over Derek’s chest, running the pad of his thumb over the row of buttons on the gray Henley that Derek was wearing. Derek responded by throwing his head back and laughing deeply before capturing Stiles’ lips in yet another deep kiss, sure to throw in a bite to his lip and a possessive squeeze of his ass. 

Yeah, they were definitely going to send Peter a fruit basket.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/), too!


End file.
